Masked
by Stripes McKee
Summary: When Spot brings Haven Anderson to the Manhattan LH, he doesn't know what he's gotten himself, or the rest of the newsies into.
1. Fighting Irish (actually Scottish, but t...

Shit. Spot Conlon, leader of the Brooklyn Newsies, was still several blocks from the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House, when the light snow turned into a full-fledged blizzard. He slid his cane into the belt loop of his pants, and prepared to sprint for safety.  
  
What was dat? A series of thunks and muted grunts of pain reached his ears. Sounds like a fight. Unable to contain his curiosity, he tracked the sounds to a nearby alley. When he got there, he could see the combatants. There were six thugs attacking a teenage boy, who was dressed like a newsie, in dark pants, boots, a dirty white shirt, and the traditional gray newsie hat.  
  
Spot was about to come to the boy's rescue, when he noticed that the boy didn't seem to need his help. The thugs rarely landed a punch, and when they did, it never hit where it was intended to. The boy was an excellent fighter. He had already knocked out one of his attackers, and was in the process of doing the same to another. Interested, Spot climbed part way up a nearby fire escape for a better view.  
  
When it was clear that the mysterious boy would win the fight, one of the thugs pulled back out of the fray. The thug picked up a metal pipe that was lying nearby. Uh-oh. Thought Spot. He tried to yell a warning, but it went unheard in the noise of the fight. The boy was too busy with the other four attackers to notice his danger. He triumphantly delivered the knockout punch to one of his assailants, when the man with the pipe drew back his arm, and smashed the pipe into the side of the boy's head, with a sickening crunch.  
  
The boy dropped like a stone. When he hit the ground, his hat flew off. To everyone's astonishment, a mass of blonde hair tumbled out. After staring dumbly at his fallen adversary, the man with the pipe grinned. "Oy! This 'un be a lassie!" He had a thick Scottish accent. "Cor! I were looking' fer ought ta do tanight!" Then Spot noticed Scottish-man was unbuttoning his pants.  
  
Spot felt nauseous. Spurred into action, he vaulted over the railing of the fire escape, and landed with minimum difficulty on the slushy ground, right behind the thugs. They whirled, and stared at him in astonishment. "Didn't yer madda evah tell you'se not ta hoit a lady?" He grinned as the familiar rush of adrenaline flooded him.  
  
Calmly, he walked up to Scottish-man, and punched him as hard as he could. The thug's head snapped back, and he dropped to the ground, unconscious. With a grunt, another thug charged him. Spot just kicked him in the crotch, and slammed the heel of his hand into the thug's nose. Like his partner, this one was out like a light.  
  
Spot turned to the remaining two attackers. "You'se fellahs ready?" He asked, cracking his knuckles. They stood very still, then turned and bolted. Spot watched them go, making sure they weren't going to double back. Then he turned to the fallen girl.  
  
She was very pretty. With shoulder-length, curly blonde hair, long eyelashes, a spattering of freckles, and perfect lips. I wondah what it would be like ta kiss dose lips. He shook his head. Not now Spot. She's hoit.  
  
A trickle of blood ran over her face, from where the pipe had scraped her. She looked to be about 17, and tall for her age, about Spot's height. So he was careful when he lifted her. To his surprise, she was very light. With a grunt, he set out for the lodging house on Duane Street.  
  
Spot was very relieved when at last he saw the comforting lights of the lodging house ahead. The snow, forgotten during the fight, had soaked both Spot and his burden to the bone. He couldn't wait to get into warm, dry clothes, and have a cup of hot coffee. Finally, he burst in the door of the lodging house. The old man behind the desk looked up in surprise at the dripping Spot, and the girl in his arms. "Esplanations latah Kloppman. She's wet, hoit, an' needs someweahs ta sleep." Kloppman took over from there.  
  
"Swifty," he halted a newsie who had just walked in. "Could you have Doc Robertson drop in?" As Swifty hurried off, Kloppman turned to Spot, who was sagging against the wall. "You can put her on the bottom bunk in your room." He said, holding the door open to the stairs. "Shoah thing." Said Spot, as he obediently started up the stairs. Kloppman hurried ahead of Spot, and opened the door at the end of the hall.  
  
All the newsies looked up in askance, as Kloppman opened the door to the bunkroom, and a wet, bedraggled Spot staggered in. Then they noticed the unconscious girl in his arms. Spot trudged to the door next to the washroom. Opening it, he gently set his burden down on the lower bunk. He brushed the hair from her face, and wiped away some of the blood with a towel. He suddenly found himself very close to her face.  
  
Someone cleared their throat behind him. Spot jumped, and then blushed as he saw Jack Kelly standing in the doorway. "Hey Jacky-boy." Said Spot, trying to recover his dignity. "Heya Spot." Replied Jack, amused at seeing that this girl had Spot already off-balance, and she wasn't even awake! Spot and Jack spit-shook. Then they walked into the bunkroom, and Spot sat down on Jack's bunk. All the newsies stopped what they were doing, and looked at Spot expectantly. "So Spot, what happened?" asked Jack.  
  
"Well," said Spot. "I was on me way ovah heah, when I heahs da noise a fightin'. So I go see what's the hell is goin' on, ya know. When I gets dere, six a da biggest goons I evah saw, was fightin' dis kid, dat's dressed like a newsie. I was about ta go help him, when I notice, dis guy don' need my help. He was takin' dem all down. Den one a da goons grabs dis metal pipe off da ground, an' hits da kid ovah da head wit' it. Da kid falls down, an' his hat flies off. An' whadda ya know! It's a goyl! So I'se step in, 'cause da kid got knocked out, see. I chase da thugs off, an' bring her back heahs. Dat okay wit chu?"  
  
Everyone nodded, and Spot stretched. " Now I'se tired, so I'se gonna hit da sack. Night." Spot left to a chorus of "Night Spot." He shut the door to his room, and set his cane, hat, and slingshot on the dresser. He pulled off his shirt, and climbed up to the top bunk. His last conscious thought was of the girl sleeping below him.  
  
After being awakened by Kloppman, Spot headed for the washroom to shave. After shaving, he got dressed, and found Jack. "So did da doc show up?" asked Spot. Jack grinned. "Yup. Said she'd be okay, but someone needs ta stay wit' her, 'till she wakes up." Spot thought about it. "I can't. I gots ta eoin me some money foist." Jack looked around. "Well, Blink's broke, so's Race-" Spot snorted. "When's he not?" Jack laughed. "As I was sayin', Race is broke, and so is Mush. Look's like I'se gotta do it. I got extra money." Confident that the girl would be looked after, Spot joined the other newsies on the way to get their papes. 


	2. *Yawns* Worse than a hangover....

Haven opened her eyes to find that everything she was looking at was so blurry, she couldn't make out where she was. Finally, her vision cleared and she realized that she was lying in a bunk bed, staring at the bottom of the bed above her. She tried to figure out where she was, but she didn't recognize it. She tried to turn her head, but was suddenly struck with so much pain in her right temple, that she gasped, and put a shaking hand to her head. Her gasp caught the attention of the person sitting next to the bed. It was a boy of about 18, tall, with brown hair and eyes. He wore a red bandanna around his neck, and a cowboy hat hung from around his neck. He looked down at her and grinned. "Hey! You'se up! How do ya feel?" He had a warm voice, and his eyes sparkled. "M-my head hurts." Haven replied, her voice shaking a little. "Where am I?" she asked.  
  
"Da Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House." He replied.  
  
"An' by da way, I'se Jack Kelly."  
  
She grinned sensing no danger here.  
  
"Haven Anderson." She replied as they spit-shook.  
  
She looked around slowly, mindful of her sore temple. She was in what seemed to be a small bedroom.  
  
"How did I get here?" She asked.  
  
"Well, ta make a long story shawt, some guy ya was fightin' wit hit ya ovah da head wit a pipe, an' knocked ya out. But Spot saw, an' scared dem off, an' brought 'cha back heah."  
  
She rubbed her temple, and found a soft patch of bandages.  
  
"You'se was out cold when Spot gotcha heah, wit blood runnin' down da side a ya face."  
  
He grinned at something she didn't quite grasp. Seeing her look, he chuckled. "Ya hungry? Kloppman left ya some food."  
  
He gestured to a tray on the other side of her bed. She grinned and grabbed the bowl of soup, and began to wolf it down.  
  
In between mouthfuls, she watched Jack.  
  
He knows something I don't. Oh well. If he's not going to tell me, I probably don't want to know.  
  
"Who's Spot and Kloppman? And why're you so ready to take me in?" she asked, suddenly skeptical.  
  
Jack chuckled again. "One question at a time! Spot is Spot Conlon, the leadah a da Brooklyn newsies. Kloppman is da guy dat runs dis place. Tries ta keep us out a trouble, and patches us up when we get into it anyway. He cooks, or tries to, cleans, and does odd fix-it jobs. He's like a fadda ta us."  
  
He held up a hand to stave off her next question. "Befoah ya ask who 'us' is, we'se da Manhattan Newsies."  
  
Haven grinned. She found it hard not to like Jack.  
  
The two fell to talking, and were soon fast friends.  
  
When Jack asked if she wanted to meet the rest of the newsies at a restruant called Tibby's, she readily agreed. 


	3. "Haven is just fine for me"

A/N: No I don't own newsies….blah, blah, blah….  
  
Thank you to….  
  
Maggie: I want to know where your story is going to, so you WRITE ME MORE!!  
  
Gemini: Thanks for the positive message!  
  
L'etoile: I know, I know, but every writer gets that urge!  
  
Pisky: Ah, the sweet smell of love in the air! Wait until you read this chapter!  
  
Gnat: I took you up on your offer!!!  
  
Stress: Thank you…thank you…I love your stories too!!! (put me in CLAK!!!  
  
* prays * pleeeeeeeeeeez?)  
  
Iris: Thanks for the great FB!!! * huggles *  
  
Gypsy: You're so kind…so very kind! * much newsie thanx * You're my hero!  
  
* winks *  
  
~~****~~****~~****~~****~~****~~  
  
A/N (again): hey ppl! Sorry this took so long! I've been really busy lately. *curses all things evil and homework * grrrr… anyways, read, review, and enjoy!  
  
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When Spot was done selling his papes, he had a considerable amount if money in his pocket.  
  
He then joined the rest of the newsies as they rushed back to the lodging house to see if their guest was up yet.  
  
Kloppman told them that she was indeed up, and would meet them at Tibby's with Jack.  
  
So they all reluctantly made their way to the small restruant.  
  
Once there, they grabbed their usual tables and ordered.  
  
They ate their food with minimal talk, all looking for Jack and the girl.  
  
Finally Jack walked in. He sat down at his usual place, between Spot and Race. "So fellahs. How was ya day?"  
  
Race interrupted him. "Moah impoitantly, how was hers?"  
  
Jack looked at him with mock puzzlement. "Who's?"  
  
The newsies all groaned, and Spot hit him upside the head. Jack ducked the many hats that had been thrown at him, and grinned.  
  
He cleared his throat. "Hey you'se guys, lissen up! Dis," he said opening the door, "Is Haven Andahson."  
  
In walked, a little unsteadily, their guest.  
  
All the newsies' jaws dropped.  
  
She's even moah beautiful awake than she is asleep! Thought Spot.  
  
Her eyes, a combination of blue and grey, like the sea durin' a storm, took in the scene around her.  
  
She smiled a bit uncertainly. "An' let me be da foist ta warn you'se guys. She's got a woise tempah den Spot heah!"  
  
She chuckled, and Spot immediately liked her.  
  
She was tall, though still shorter than Jack, and she had changed clothes.  
  
She wore black pants, with a white and navy striped shirt, and dark blue suspenders.  
  
"Heya Cowboy!" called Race. "Intraduce us!"  
  
Jack and Haven looked at each other, and burst out laughing.  
  
When he finally caught his breath, Jack said, "OK. Dis is Racetrack, Mush, Skittery, Snitch, Snoddy, Bumlets, Boots, Snipeshootah, Specs, Dutchy, Les, Kid Blink, Skulls, Pistol, Jake, Itey, Scratcher and Itchy (twins), Pie- eatah, Stitches, Swifty, and Hankie."  
  
She smiled at each in turn. "An' dis," said Jack. "Is you'se rescuah, da infamous, Spot Conlon!"  
  
She smiled extra big at Spot, and gave him a look that said she would talk to him later.  
  
"Jacky-boy, doncha call me her 'rescuah'. She wouldah rescued herself if dat goon hadn't gotten his paws on dat pipe!"  
  
Spot was rewarded with a sparkling smile.  
  
"Yeah Cowboy," she said. "I doubt that you can say the same!"  
  
All the newsies laughed.  
  
Once their laugher quieted, Jack held up a hands. "OK I desoived dat, but you'se still lucky Spot was dere."  
  
She smiled at Spot again, and he found himself blushing.  
  
Jack noticed this, and had to conceal his laughter as coughing.  
  
As all the newsies stared at him, he cleared his throat again.  
  
"Well I'se hungry, so lets git summah dat food ovah dere!" said Jack to Haven. She readily agreed.  
  
Haven found herself seated between Jack and Spot, trying to drink some coffee. "So Jack. What took ya so long ta git heah?" asked a newsie she vaguely remembered as Racetrack.  
  
"Well…" said Jack looking uncertainly at Haven.  
  
"What this meat-head over here," she said pointing at Jack. "Is trying not to say, is that I'm not up to full strength yet, so I needed to rest, every now and then." Jack grinned and stood up. "You'se guys, we need ta think up a nickname foah Haven heahs." he said.  
  
"Any suggestions?" He was immediately bombarded with,  
  
"Fightah!"  
  
"Fox!"  
  
"Baby Doll!"  
  
"Knockout!"  
  
And other such pet names.  
  
"Haven is just fine for me." Said Haven.  
  
"Naw." Said Jack. "If you'se gonna stay wit' us, ya gotta have a nickname."  
  
She sighed, seeing no way around this.  
  
Jack smirked. "We resume da choosin' a da names tanight in da bunkroom. Foah now, I pronouce you, Haven Andahson, Manhattan's newest newsie!"  
  
Everyone cheered.  
  
Jack sat down on his chair, or would have, if Haven hadn't pulled out from under him.  
  
The newsies were in stiches, and Haven smirked.  
  
"That's what you get for messing with me Cowboy!"  
  
Her smirk grew, and she reached down to help him up.  
  
She had been expecting him to pull her down too, so when he did, she was ready.  
  
When she hit the ground, she hit shoulder first, turned a half somersault, and rolled to her feet.  
  
She did this all so quickly, the newsies just stared at her, stunned.  
  
"We Andersons always land on our feet." She commented, and couldn't resist a satisfied smirk.  
  
She looked down at Jack. "So Cowboy. You like it down there? 'Cause if you do, I could always dump you on your butt again!"  
  
The newsies laughed so hard, many of them fell out of their chairs.  
  
"Are you gonna get up again? It'd be mighty hard to lead the newsies if you only come up to their knees!"  
  
Jack reddened, and that really set the newsies off.  
  
He picked himself up off the floor, muttering things about, "Goyls."  
  
Spot watched as Haven proceeded to dump Jack on the floor, then tease him about it.  
  
He felt very jealous of Jack, seeing as he got all Haven's attention.  
  
This puzzled him. He was The Great Spot Conlon. He never tied himself down to just one girl! And since when d'ya care if some strangah goyl ya just met teases Jack?  
  
He was thinking so hard, that he didn't notice someone standing in front of him, until they waved their hand in front of his face.  
  
It was Haven. Spot felt himself start to blush.  
  
"So Spot," she said awkwardly. "I just… I just wanted to thank you for, uh… helping me out back there in the alley. If you hadn't intervened, those goons would probably have killed me… or worse."  
  
Spot grimaced. "Don't sweat it. Ya woulda done da same fer me."  
  
She grinned, and he grinned back.  
  
"So wheah'd ya loin ta fight like dat?" Spot asked.  
  
"Well I come from Connecticut, and I spent a lot of time with a powerful gang leader, so he taught me how to fight, among other things."  
  
Spot was immediatley interested. "What else did he teach ya?" he asked.  
  
"Well, he tawt me ta tawk wit' a numbah a diffrent accents, throw knives, pick pockets, out drink someone, dance, sing, pass for a boy, and how to lie."  
  
Spot's brow creased. "He tawtcha all dat?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Whadda 'bout teachin' ya ta lie? Nobody needs ta loin how ta do dat. You'se born wit' it!"  
  
She shook her head. "He taught me to lie belivebly."  
  
Seeing Spot's confusion, she said, "See, I just made you believe that I can sing and dance!"  
  
Spot chuckled. She had a great sense of humor.  
  
They started talking, and hit it off immediately.  
  
She was doing an impression of herself trying to learn how to act like a boy, when she gasped in pain and collapsed.  
  
Jack swore. "Musta ovah extended herself. let's get her back ta da lodgin' house, and call Doc again."  
  
All the other newises nodded, and Jack bent down, and picked her up easily. "She needs ta eat moah." said Jack. And with that, they headed for the lodgin' house. 


End file.
